The Sun, the Moon, & the Truth
by The Crane Wife
Summary: If she says it out loud, to the world enough times, maybe it will become true. She will feel fine. The boulder sitting on her chest will disappear and she'll sleep without screaming, breathe without wheezing, eat without the accompanying feeling of nausea. Eventually, maybe.
1. Chapter 1

Hello, friends! I had a dream about the Last of Us last night and... here we are. This is rated M for descriptions of rape and language. Potentially, this will be a longer story, but for now, this is what it is. Always seeking beta readers, as I have a serious problem with run on sentences and word order. Please forgive both, should you run across them whilst reading. Also, and it is apparently worth noting: Joel/Ellie will be written from a strictly father/daughter perspective. Enjoy!

The Crane Wife x

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3 things cannot be long hidden: The sun, the moon, and the truth.  
-Buddha

/

 _No. No. Please. No. Nonononononononono. Fuck, no. Not like this. Please._

Her eyes are pinched shut. Partly because there's fire raging around them, making her eyes water, and partly because she's afraid to look. Ellie's afraid this, _this_ will be the last thing that she sees: David's bony face illuminated by a red glow, his dark, wicked eyes staring at her pale skin, like he's got some kind of claim over her. One of his hands is holding the hem of her shirt, edging it upwards, while the other just lightly touches the inside of her thigh. She knows the machete is nearby, she can feel it against her finger tips, and if she just stretches a bit further, she'll be able to pick it up, and maybe – maybe prevent the worst from happening. The world spins around her, from the panic about what will happen if she simply _can't_ and the pain in her side where he kicked her. She worries this will never end. This will never be over. She'll live in this one horrible moment for the rest of her life.

 _A little more, c'mon, just- a- little-_

Her eyes open just a bit, peering at the knife, centimeters from her grasp. She's so close, if only she could will her fingers to be a little bit longer, then she could pick it up, shove it right into his temple. She could leave this goddamn town and she could go back to Joel and she could start forgetting this ever happened. Just as she wraps her fingers around the handle, a self-satisfied _yes_ leaving her lips without her consent, he realizes what she's doing, and slams his hand on her wrist. She cries out, something between _ouch_ and a sob, trying to reach across her body to cradle her seemingly broken wrist out of instinct. He catches her hand and pins it above her head. Tears leak out of the corner of her eyes. She wishes in this moment David would just kill her. Even that is preferable to this.

 _Please, Joel_ , she thinks now, desperately, _please, please help me_. She says this like a prayer. She would even say it aloud, if she had the air in her lungs to, but David's body is so heavy over hers. And now he's got her bound to the floor, his determination unflinching. She pictures Joel, lying heavy on the shit-stained mattress, his skin pale, his body shaking involuntarily. He can't get up. He couldn't, even if he wanted to. She might've saved him, if not for this. She might've prevented his death with the penicillin she got and they could've gone on, living whatever semblance of a normal life they've been piecing together for so long now. _Joel. Joel_. A heavy sob escapes her. _Joel, I'm so sorry_.

"Don't worry, little rabbit," David says, his voice slamming into her ear drum like poison, despite the fact that he's not speaking in more than a whisper. He's undone the button on his pants, she can just barely hear the zipper of his fly slide down. A final struggle rises within her and she pushes against his body, just as he says, "This won't hurt at all." Blood from the wound she gave him drips onto her face and he smiles at her, pulling his pants down before thumbing at hers. His hands pinch at the button and as he reaches to undo the zipper, she heaves against him, her legs flailing as hard as she can make them. He winces in pain, taking in a deep breath, but it wasn't enough, he's still bigger than she is, and he recovers himself over her.

His voice is strained, as he tells her, "You'll wish you hadn't done that," and he roughly pulls down her pants. She's crying now, fearfully, without shame. There's nothing she can do and she's resigning herself to that fact. She feels a little more limp against his touch, she stops struggling with her legs. She's crying and crying, closing her eyes so tightly, it makes her head spin and spots appear beneath her lids. She lets out a scream, quiet at first, but it gathers momentum somewhere inside her, and she's yelling as loudly as she can.

"Ellie?" she hears her name, but it sounds distant, far away. _Joel? Joel? Are you here?_ "Ellie!" _Oh my god, Joel!_ His voice is quiet, soothing, and she wishes it was louder because that would mean it was closer.

Her eyes barely open and she sees a face above her, unsure of whom it belongs to. She says, "Joel?" but her voice comes out strained, breathless; she's not sure he hears her. Her eyes open a little wider and she realizes first there's no fire. In fact, it's completely dark where they are. Pitch black – How long has she been out for? David could still be here. "Joel?" she says a little more frantically. She sits up, backing away from whatever figure sits in front of her, "Joel!" David could be anywhere and he could be coming back. Hell, he could the person talking to her. What if he tries to– What if he finds her again and he–

She balls her hands into fists and starts swatting at the body next to her. "Get away from me!" she shouts, followed immediately by, "Joel! Help me!" Powerful hands grab onto her shoulders, shaking her gently. She continues to swing wildly, calling out, "Joel! Please, help me, Joel!" Her eyes are wide open, but she still can't really see, still can't quite place where she is. _Oh god, no, please help me._

And then she hears it, sweetly and quietly, a rumbling voice she's come to love, cutting through her fear like – well, like a well placed machete: "Baby girl," Joel says. _You're here, thank god, thank god, fuck, I'm so glad you're here,_ "Baby girl, I'm right here. You're dreaming. I'm right here."

She feels herself bolt upright and somehow, she's on her feet. She's dreaming, she's dreaming, it's okay. "Joel," she whispers, her eyes fluttering, as she regains her senses. The world becomes less blurry, the moon make the room glow bright and silver, and she confirms is that it is indeed Joel sitting on her bed. Following the attack from David, they moved on immediately, kept to the road for what felt like days before they stumbled across another town and settled in. For a few days, Joel said initially, because they had to keep moving, but that might have been a week ago now and she knows, she knows that they can't go anywhere while she's, well, like _this_. "I'm sorry," she says, her hands touching her face, the sticky, lingering wetness from sweat and tears. Her body feels heavy from moisture, as if she weighs more as a result of this new burden she's holding on to. She clears her throat and stands a little straighter, "Just a nightmare. It wasn't as bad this time," but at this, Joel looks skeptical. "I swear," she punctuates.

Before he can say anything at all, in the new, nonjudgmental tone he's adopted when speaking to her, she sits back down on the mattress. When he says anything now, it sounds like he's trying too hard. Like he thinks she'll break under the weight of the wrong words. She hates it. She genuinely, _seriously_ hates it. She doesn't want his pity or his sympathy. Although, she's not sure what she wants instead, either. "I'm okay, really," her head is hitting her sweat-soaked pillow and she's nestling in, swinging her feet up, like she'll be able to go back to sleep after _that_.

Joel maneuvers himself so she can get comfortable. He's quiet for a moment before he says, "We have to talk about this eventually," in the least accusatory way, like he really means it.

"We don't have to talk about shit. Remember? I'll be fine," and with this, she rolls over onto her side, facing the wall, away from Joel. He doesn't say anything else and she feels his hand hesitate over her before it rests gently against her cheek. She closes her eyes and chokes on a sob. "I'm fine," she says again, but this time, she's saying it more for herself than for him. If she says it out loud, to the world enough times, maybe it will become true. She will feel fine. The boulder sitting on her chest will disappear and she'll sleep without screaming, breathe without wheezing, eat without the accompanying feeling of nausea. _Eventually, maybe_.

Joel shifts on her bed, sitting so his back rests against the wall. "I'll be right here," he tells her. She sees him looking right at her. His hand falls from her face and rests on top of her hands. "Go back to sleep."

"Night, old man," she says half-heartedly, her voice thick from her tears and exhaustion, but her eyes stay open and she stares pointedly at the wall in front of her. No, there's no more sleep in store for her now. Not with the image of _him_ and his face and the way he tried so hard to hurt her. Not just with his fists, but with the careful way he touched her, like he knew exactly how to make her feel terrified and empty at the same time. She's crying again, tears pooling at her cheek. It should be a relief to get rid of these complicated feelings, but instead, it only stands to make her feel numb.

Joel sighs and squeezes her hand, "Night, baby girl."

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	2. Chapter 2

I'm the slowest writer known to man, but viola! Here we are.  
The Crane Wife x

/

The first night following Ellie's encounter with David, she begs him to keep on the road. "We have to get away from here," she tells him, her eyes wild. She's staring around them like someone, some enemy, could appear at any moment. This thought, he remembers conceding, isn't all that irrational. The world is dangerous. She might know that better than anybody now. She carries it in the way she walks, like a bow legged doe, sliding on ice. Still, they'd been going for hours, and he's still not at his best. He's barely removed from his worst (read: he's not very far away from having been nearly dead).

He knows he'll need to stop soon. He's about to tell her, but she cuts him off.

"Please," she begs, "Please, we just have to keep going."

A sigh buries itself in his chest. _Yes, babygirl, of course we do_. All he can do is nod, because he'd let her down once, he won't do it again.

Despite the pain building in his abdomen, he keeps walking with her.

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"Ellie," he says quietly, the second day. She keeps walking, tiptoeing more like, ears perked for anything but the sound of his voice. His hand touches his stomach and finds his shirt is warm and sticky. He doesn't need to look at his palm to know that it's blood. He's surprised, admittedly; he thought his stitches were long healed. Then again, he's barely moved in who knows how long - maybe he should be less surprised. "Ellie," he says again, louder, pausing to lean against a tree, sure that he can't keep moving.

Ellie turns on her heel, gun raised, staring him down through the scope, finger tense on the trigger. It takes a full, long 10 seconds, where Joel doesn't move a single inch, he barely even breathes, because he's so worried the slightest movement will make her shoot, purposefully or not.

"Oh, fuck," she says, putting the gun down, but still holding it tightly, and jogging back to him. "Okay," she says, as Joel sits in the snow, "Fuck." She lifts his shirt and he's relieved that she seems relieved. "Okay. Not bad," she says so quietly, he struggles to hear her voice, "I can patch it up and we can keep going, okay?"

 _I don't think I can_ , he thinks, but instead he hums a response in the affirmative. If she needs to keep going, then so does he. She sets to work and he closes his eyes, listening to each anxious, rattling breath she takes. Her fingers shake against his skin. She's ready to go. She already thinks they've been still too long.

"Ellie...," he starts, but trails off because he's not sure what to say. She doesn't say a word, barely acknowledges that he spoke at all. His eyes open and realizes the world is a bit fuzzier than it should be. He sees that she's spilled some of their supplies in front of her. Trying to focus, he identifies gauze, a small bit of tape, a needle and some thread. She moves quickly, but isn't sloppy. He appreciates her so much in this moment, it almost overwhelms him. He wants so badly to take away what hurts her. What's eating away at her. If only he could. He puts his hand on her arm, to acknowledge that they're here, together, and to help ground him back in the world."...thank you," he says finally. Her fingers get still for a moment, and she lifts her eyes to look at him. She smiles at him, just barely, but it's enough.

So they keep going.

/

On the fourth day, they find a town. Ellie walks through each and every house to make sure there's no one there and no sign of anybody having been there at all/ever/even once. Joel doesn't think about what Ellie will do if she runs into someone. He worries sometimes that he's ruined her, taking her on the road this way. He worries that he's the reason she's lost some of her innocence. He worries about a lot, he realizes.

"Ready for dinner?" she asks, cutting through his thoughts, her voice low and flat. He nods and accepts the can of an unidentifiable vegetable she's holding out for him.

"Ellie-" he starts, but she cuts him off.

"Can we not?" she says, her voice laced with annoyance and disappointment, "Please? I just want to eat and you need to get your strength back so we can get back to the road."

"I just-," he begins, but her head snaps to him, her face caught somewhere between so angry, she might punch him, and so sad, she might start crying and never stop. What does he want to say, anyway? He realizes he just wants to hear her talk. He wants her to tell him about her comic books and things she did back in Boston and ask questions he doesn't know the answer to. Her eyes haven't moved from his face. He nods. "Right, okay."

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That night, he's sitting near the window, imagining the world as it was before. He's seeing people walk by beneath them, drunk and laughing or holding hands or making a lonely walk on their own. What he wouldn't give to get angry at the obnoxious kids who used to annoy the hell out of him by drinking near his house. _My daughter is trying to fucking sleep, assholes!_ He hears himself yelling it clear as day.

Where are those kids now? Did they make it? It feels so stupid now, to have been so mad.

"Joel! Please, help me, Joel!"

Her voice pierces his thoughts and he's running into the next room before he even realizes, "Ellie?" he responds. When he reaches the bed she's sleeping in, he realizes she's dreaming. "Fuck," he mumbles, but he calms somewhat, seeing that she's still here with him, _still safe_. "It's okay, baby girl," he croons, sitting on the edge of her bed. His hand falls heavy on her back, trying to rouse her without scaring her more, "Baby girl, I'm right here," even he's surprised by how calm he sounds, when in his mind, he's killing David before he ever puts his filthy hands on her, "You're dreaming. I'm right here."

Finally, she jumps out of bed. In the moonlight, half of her looks like an angel, young and innocent, a child, as she really is.

And still, the other half of her is drowning in darkness.

/

For the next 4 days, they don't move. Ellie hasn't slept and when she does, she wakes herself screaming. Joel is worried about her and also what sleeping out in the world might mean. What if someone or _something_ hears her yells?

He thinks about the panic he felt when he woke up and she was gone. He's not even sure what dragged her from sleep, or more accurately the comatose state he was in following the accident. Death was knocking. He's not sure how he ignored the call.

He woke, though, he dragged his feet across the snowy earth and found his way to her. He remembers how primal she looked until she fell against him, the slight feeling of panic he felt, unsure of whether or not she'd turn around and shove the machete through his skin. He'll never admit this hesitation out loud, how clearly she looked to him, until she fell into him, words pushing out of her chest. Here in his minds eye, is where she turns small and frightened, lit up in the haze of the flames around them. She thinks of him as strong and protective, and there's part of him that wants her to continue thinking of him that way. He loves her. He does. And it's dangerous this way, because he cares more about her safety than he does his own

"Joel! Joel, help!"

He sighs, not from annoyance, but from worry. "Ellie," he responds quietly, walking toward her.

It's okay, it's okay. He's telling himself, as much as he's telling her.

"Baby girl, we're okay."


End file.
